Whiskey and cigarettes and past regrets

Tender sunrise in the blue morning haze

Songs drifted though the night

Like incantations to raise the dead from slumber

Marooned in my own little world

Late night harlequins still stink up the place

With liquor and despair and...is that vanilla?

If insanity is doing the same thing expecting something different

I must be certifiable; crucifiable

The streets outside are so alive I feel I'm not worthy

To transverse their hallowed grounds

Strange now that I think of you

'cause I think that you don't think of me

Subway subset of thoughts left unsaid

Like some modern day alchemy

I thought it would reach you through osmosis

The rhythm of the rhythm of the memory in my head

Beats like a drum on the skull

It was the racks I laid upon last night

Not the mattress or the comforts of my sanctuary

April is the cruelest month it breeds like 7^th avenue w****s, in

The trailer park at the edge of town

Like a bird high above on the wire

Or a drunken midnight marauder

I've tried my damnest to be free

Reviews

[Robert Lincoln]

You have an intriguing style - straightforward language with complexity that comes from phrasing and conceptual context. Inside its shell of strength and articulation, there's a decided vulnerability. Far from a typical style here, which makes it all the more engaging.

[Shimmerbliss/CAF]

I really like your the way your writing feels. There is something, as I mentioned before, that brings to mind a black & white 1940's film - even though the language is updated! You have some brutal but good imagery and I like the way you express yourself. Glad I found your writing. Unique - and that's a great thing.